After The Fall
by redheadleela
Summary: SPOILER for end of second season. My first fic in Sherlock-verse. I'm sure many others will be writing similar ideas after that episode! From Watson's POV, reviews most welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hi all, this is my first fiction based on Sherlock, but the most recent episode spurred me into action! I hope it's good enough to be associated with the show and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself! Obviously spoilers for the most recent series shown on BBC this January.

Rating is due to some language and the dark themes. I own nothing all respect to the BBC , and Moffat is an evil genius!

I still can't believe he's gone, even though I know it to be the truth. I know I'll never accept that he was a fraud. My work, my life revolved around him and now he's gone. And I have walked around, ghost-like, for weeks now.

I keep thinking I see him, from the corner of my eye or across the street. My therapist says this is normal, part of the grieving process. She may be right but now I know it's a process I'll not see the end of. I've tried, I've tried so hard but I'm tired. Every time I try to sleep I see him fall, again and again, I hear him say "it's what people do isn't it, leave a note?"

So this is me, riding the tube for the last time, looking out at the familiar sights, remembering. I'm so wrapped up in thoughts of him that I even thought I saw him on the platform when I'd gotten on. The man went to a different carriage, I knew it wasn't him, couldn't be him, but the man was even wearing his coat collar flipped up like he used to. When I saw that my heart was in my mouth.

I stare aimlessly out of the window and smirk to myself when I remember sitting with him in Buckingham palace when he was only wearing a bedsheet.

The tannoy announced the next stop and I jumped, the journey had passed even quicker than I'd expected, I took a deep breath and moved towards the doors. When the train stopped I stepped off and allowed myself to be carried by the flood of rush hour commuters, like debris floating in a river. When I was released it took me a while to start moving under my own steam. I felt as if I was being watched but I assumed that that was paranoia and linked to what I was about to do. I wondered briefly why I felt such a compulsion to finish it in this specific way, I mean I could have taken an overdose or any other method. I think I wanted to emulate him, his end, the symbolism of it all... I don't know, I can't even explain it to myself. I don't really remember the walk to the bridge, I know I thought of my sister . The next thing I was aware of was climbing over the guard rail and looking down at the drop. As I stood there, swaying slightly in the wind, I wonder how he had felt, looking down at the street, down at me. I wonder if he was afraid. I stood with my arms tightly coiled round the support struts, trying to work up the courage for what I have to do. I've heard it described as 'the coward's way out', I think I've even called it that myself. But now I find myself here and I discover that a certain type of courage is required, maybe just enough to overcome our innate survival instincts. I was lost in these thoughts and for the first time since his death I wasn't thinking about Sherlock.

That's when I heard his voice, "John." Just that, just my name. I thought I must be imagining it. Just my subconscious trying to appeal to my conscious mind. I shook my head, I'd already decided what I was going to do, I only had to do the deed itself. I hadn't left a note, I couldn't bear to, but I'd updated my will and left it in plain sight on the desk at Baker Street.

"John." I heard it again, seemingly closer this time, but still in that calm, level voice of his, the one he used almost exclusively around me. I'm only hearing his voice because I wish he was here, I told myself, but I know he's not. He's gone and he's not coming back and in a world without him...

I looked down at the drop and for a moment my resolve hardened. That's when the hand gently touched my elbow, I almost fell from sheer shock! I turned around rapidly, after rechecking my grip. As I turned my brain seemed to be paralysed with fear, I was going to be stopped, most likely sectioned, I'd missed my chance. Then all thought stopped as I saw who had grabbed my arm. Those intense blue eyes stared straight into my own as he said, "Please don't do this, John."

I gasped, my brain ground back into action, a habit I'd gained in the Forces, in battle conditions if you let shock freeze you it will probably be the last thing you ever do.

"Okay... so I'm hallucinating?" Some shred of hope must have lingered in my heart for me to phrase this as a question, or I had completely lost my mind and was perfectly comfortable talking to my own creation.

"Would I be able to touch you if I was a hallucination?" I turned away from him, from this impossible vision to look back down at the drop. I screwed my eyes shut feeling the confusion and loss in my mind as a physical pain.

"John?" He sounded slightly uncertain this time.

If this was my own mind talking to me I thought I might as well consider his question. Could he touch me if he was a figment of my own mind. I suppose if it was the creation of my mind he could do anything I wanted him to. I said aloud but more to myself than anything else, "Yes, you must be a hallucination."

I felt his hand tighten on my arm briefly and then after what felt like a year he said, quietly, "Come back over the rail and we can discuss it." I shook my head with my eyes still firmly shut, this was so hard already without having to argue with him, or with the part of my brain that spoke in his voice.

"You don't want to do this." He said.

"I bloody well do!"

Another seemingly mammoth pause, "Okay, poor choice of words, I meant you can't do this, its not in your person to quit like this."

"I didn't think it was in yours either." More silence, "I never saw you give up on anything, I never met anyone as stubborn as you, and yet you did it, you jumped, you gave in."

"I'm sorry, John. I've seen how much pain this has caused you. I don't know if it will be any comfort but I didn't jump because I gave in." A pause, in which his words bombarded my exhausted brain, "I jumped to protect you."

These words may have entered my ears and even my brain but there was only one part that had caught my attention. I turned around again, stared him straight in the face and asked, "You've '_seen_ how much pain this has caused me'? You were watching me?"

Sherlock took a stepped away, forced back by my sudden fury. I stepped back over the barrier, towards him, and grabbed the front of his shirt, "You watched me go through this suffering? What was I, some experiment? Test how much I care about you by torturing me, is that it?" Despite my fury I was aware that I could physically feel the heat from his body, the weave of his shirt, if this was a hallucination it was surround-sound 'Avatar'- quality!

"John, the assassins. They weren't there for me, Moriarty had one set on you... he told me you'd all only be safe if I died, I thought I could persuade him to call them off but he shot himself... that left me with only one option..." He took a deep breath, it was such a strange sight to see Sherlock stumbling and rushing over his words but I was barely listening.

"You made me watch!" My fury peaked and the fist that was not clenched on his shirt collided with one of his angular cheekbones. I raised my fist to hit him again, he had offered no resistance, when I saw the blood trickle from his nose, and the memory of him on the pavement, the blood all over the paving stones... I released him and ran to the side of the road.

"John!"


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hello again. Very sorry for the delay in posting this next part, I had a big pile of coursework and then I injured my hand by losing a 'fight' with a pool table! But here's what we have... I did intend this story to only be a two-part thing but it seems unfinished but also this is a good place to stop this chapter... hmm so I shall continue writing and see how many chapters come out of it!

Disclaimer: As ever, don't own any of it. BBC, Arthur Conan Doyle etc etc.

I hung onto the guard rail, with a grip so tight I could feel the metal cutting into my palms, retching. I took one deep shaky breath after another, after perhaps five minutes of hanging there and I came back to myself enough to spin round and face him, "But I saw you fall!" It was meant as an accusation but it came out sounding like a plea.

Sherlock broke the gaze, he looked at his shoes, another out of character action, surely if I was imagining this I would have made him act how he had always acted and sound as he had always sounded. In other words; arrogant and confident.

When he looked up again there were tears in his eyes, "I'm sorry John! I needed you to believe I was dead in order to keep you safe." He paused and glanced around, "I wouldn't have shown myself even now but there isn't much point in protecting you from assassins when they aren't the biggest danger."

I felt my legs give way underneath me and fell into a heap on the floor, this was just all too much.

I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my face, I just couldn't bear this. It was a while before I realised he had sat down next to me. I turned to him, tears having streaked down my face by this point, "Go away! You're not real, you can't really be here, leave me alone!"

I almost screamed the last part.

He didn't move an inch, he only responded, still in his calm even voice, "You don't really want me to leave though, do you?"

If I had any strength left in my body I think I would have punched him again for that comment. Instead I curled myself tighter and tried to block out the world.

I couldn't process any more, after that all I have is flashes of images and sound, maybe I finally slept, sat on that gravel path. The next thing that really registered was Lestrade showing up.

I heard the car wheels crunch to a halt, a car door open and shut and then the familiar voice saying, "Bloody hell!"

At this I raised my head slightly, and in doing saw I saw Sherlock walking towards Lestrade and shaking his hand, smiling slightly apologetically as he did.

"How the hell...?"

Sherlock just shook his head, and gestured down towards me. Lestrade took the hint and walked towards me, "Hey John, this is strange huh?"

I raised my head slowly, as uncertain of the reality of Lestrade as I was of Sherlock. I frowned at him in confusion before asking, "What.." I stopped surprised to hear my voice so hoarse and rough, "... What are you doing here?"

He looked just as confused as I must have, "Well, you asked me to come. You said it was important in your text."

I continued to frown but Lestrade turned to face Sherlock as he approached us both.

He hovered nervously for a moment and then offered a mobile phone towards me, I looked at him with the same confused expression.

He answered the unasked question, "It's your phone John, here take it back."

"How did you...?" It was taking half my energy to deny that this was even happening, and most of the other half to stay awake.

"You gave it to me." Even Sherlock looked confused now, or maybe that was concern, another unfamiliar sight. "I asked to borrow your phone and you handed it to me, don't you remember?"

Lestrade crouched down in front of me, seemingly in order to look me straight in the eyes. "What are you doing here, John?" He turned his head to look at Sherlock who was hovering again. "You arranged to meet here?"

Sherlock shook his head and stared at his shoes, if he couldn't explain I doubted I could.

"Guys!" He sounded suddenly annoyed, "Don't you think I've spent enough time trying to figure you two out? I mean one more than the other sure," He stopped as he said this and grinned at me, a grin that faltered when I didn't return it. "Now you called me here," I went to argue this statement but he cut across me, "One, both of you, whatever, I can tell that '_it_' actually is important... but you need to tell me what '_it_' is!"

I sighed and knew he was right, I was also becoming more certain that this was really happening to me, not that that made it any easier to deal with. "Ask him!" I nodded towards Sherlock, who froze mid-hop. Lestrade looked back at me, a little shocked at the venom in my eyes as I looked at my best friend. I held his gaze for about a minute before dropping my face back into my knees. I heard his shoes scrape the gravel, he must've turned to face Sherlock. "So?" I heard him ask.

Sherlock's reply when it came sounded quieter than I'd expected, and I heard a hesitance to his voice that was unfamiliar. It reminded me of his admission during the case of the Hound.

"He came out here to... Well he was going to hurt himself, and I had to stop him."

Lestrade seemed to turn back to me, his voice sounding clearer again, "John...?" I lifted my head to see why he had stopped speaking, as it turned out its because he was peering over the edge. My escape, now blocked by two of the people I was closest to in the world.

He seemed to shiver slightly as he looked down and then he turned his attention back to me. "John? Were you going to jump?"

I realised that I wasn't really in a position where I could lie, but now I was facing the two of them I felt ashamed of the decision that I had been so sure of only a short while ago. I simply nodded and allowed gravity to own me again. I felt someone sit down and lift my head onto their lap, from the faint scent I realised it was Sherlock.

"I am sorry, John, but I needed you to believe I was gone. To keep you safe," His hand was resting on my head, I felt it's warmth spread to my skin.

"John?" Lestrade was still trying to engage me in conversation, you have to give it to the guy for his persistence. I stared up into his eyes, seeing him as a blurred vision, it took me a moment to realise this was due to my eyes being full of tears.

Lestrade seemed to realise that I had no words, that my world had crumbled when Sherlock had fallen and now it had been tossed upside-down yet again. "John. Let me take you back to the city. Let's get you some help, eh?"

There was silence for a minute while he and Sherlock seemed to wait for me to respond. For a while I couldn't think what to say, I eventually settled for, "Do I have a choice in the matter, Detective Inspector?" The sarcasm in my voice could have cut steel,. I hated to hear it, but the defences had to go back up, or I would simply curl up here and cease to be.

Lestrade vanished from sight and I heard his voice from behind me say, "Okay, up you get." Between them they heaved me to my feet and I swayed slightly, as if my body was reluctant to move from this place. As they guided me toward Lestrade's car, as despite my reluctance my feet were taking the steps, I looked back at the drop that wouldn't now come to be. Sherlock must have noticed me turning as he addressed me as I turned back round, "Come now John. There is no need for you to jump now you know that I am not in fact dead."

Lestrade gasped a little at his words and perhaps this is why he realised a second too late just how I was going to react. I wrenched my arm away from Lestrade and for the second time on the little patch of road I punched my best friend hard in the face. Harder than I had realise too as the momentum took us both to the ground. I grabbed hold of the front of his shirt, noticing as I did the stunned look on his face, "Do you really think it's that simple?" I landed one more blow to those absurdly angular cheekbones before Lestrade recovered enough to grab hold of my arms.

I felt rather than heard his voice, right behind my head, "John, John, stop! Come on now, I'm not saying he didn't deserve that, but don't make me 'cuff you."

I relaxed a little, just enough to make Lestrade realise I was listening to him. He released my arms and I stood up and strode away from Sherlock as fast as I could manage.

I saw Lestrade offer him a hand back to his feet and heard the consulting detective ask, in what he thought was an undertone, "What did I say?"


	3. Chapter 3

Next chapter. Sorry for the delay here guys, I am struggling to find time to write at the moment, but I have no shortage of ideas! Its a bad combo! I'm thinking I might stretch this one out a bit further, to include an encounter with the final assassin... Not sure though. Let me know what you think.

Also reviews make me very happy and spur me on even better than caffeine.

As ever I don't own any rights to Sherlock or the original ideas of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 

Lestrade steered Sherlock to the side of the road, presumably to give him the talking to I usually would've given him. I leaned against the car and stared into the middle distance.

Sherlock was alive. I had doubted his death despite seeing it with my own eyes. I was so sure, for a while, and then grief and loss took over and I realised that it was much more likely that I just wished his death to be false. I had made myself believe the painful truth that my best friend was gone and not coming back, this 'truth' had driven me to the edge, literally. Now what occurred to me was that Sherlock's death was a lie.

I heard my own voice in my mind saying, 'No-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie.' I looked up and jumped slightly as I found myself staring into Sherlock's eyes.

"John?" He looked concerned, my eyes were probably glazed over. He checked back over his shoulder and Lestrade nodded at him. "I owe you an apology." I blinked at him, he looked unsure as how to continue.

"You lied to me, Sherlock." There was no tone in my voice, no expression, just the words, so its not altogether surprising that he mistook my meaning.

"I'm sorry John but in order to keep you safe I needed you to parrot Moriarty's story. I had to make you believe that I was a fraud." He seemed relieved as if a burden had been taken from him.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, "No." I took a deep steadying breath, "Your death was a lie." I turned my back on him and heard an increasing buzzing in my ears. Lestrade approached but I only opened my eyes when he laid a hand on my shoulder. I felt drained, exhausted and when Lestrade asked, "Want a ride back into the city?" all I could do is nod.

Sherlock reached his hand out towards me and even through my numb shock, I pulled away and told him forcefully, "Don't touch me!"

He took a step backwards looking stunned and after taking a moment to recover, in a low calm voice he said, "I know you hate me right now John, but please take care of yourself."

I meant to tell him that I didn't hate him but all I could manage in response was another nod.

Seemingly satisfied with this he turned to Lestrade, "Greg, please take care of him. It's not safe for me to return yet but I want... I need...," As I listened to him speak, showing such hesitation again I wondered to myself if our time apart had affected him as badly as it had affected me, "Greg, I did what I had to in order to keep you all safe, so until it is safe for me to return please ensure my efforts were not for naught."

Now it was Lestrade who was lost for words, he muttered under his breath and I, being closer than Sherlock, caught the words 'has a heart after all'. When I looked up the two of them were searching each other's faces with a look of determination. Lestrade pulled his gaze away first, looking down to meet my eyes, "Come on John." He opened the passenger side door and steered me inside, just before the door closed I heard him state plainly, "I'll look after him, but you look after you. Stay clean." Sherlock nodded and raised his hand to wave to me, I turned my face away, simply unable to process any more. In fact we were almost back at Baker Street when Lestrade's voice brought me back to my senses, "So what are we going to do with you, eh?"

I turned slowly, blinking at him, trying to figure out what he was going to say next. I was fully aware what his training would be telling him to do as in this case my training was the same. Any persons at imminent risk of harming themselves are to be put under 24 hour supervision, indefinitely until it is shown to be no longer necessary. Aside from all the other implications this would have on my life, the one that occurred most pressingly to me was the loss, at least temporarily, of my medical license. Strangely as lost and as desperate as I felt this thought worried me.

"John?" I'd apparently been silent awhile, I met his eyes again and waited for the blow to fall. "Listen," Lestrade sighed, looking more worn and tired than he had at any point before Sherlock's 'death'. "I don't want to lock you up or anything like that, but if I don't and then you try that again... Well I'd never forgive myself." He paused before adding in a slightly more cheerful tone, "Plus I think Sherlock would kill me!"

I nodded slowly before stating, "I can't promise not to feel that way again, the way I've been feeling the way I still feel. I mean, things have changed but..." I left my sentence hanging hoping he would understand.

He nodded too, "Yeah things have changed, it can take a while to sort it all out in your head though, eh? I know I'm going to need some time to take it all in myself." He stopped, rubbed his hand across his face as he thought how best to speak his mind. "Well, no you can't promise how you're going to feel," He fixed me with a stern look, "But... You can promise to call me if you do feel like that again, or call Molly or Sally, anyone really... I mean, is talking to your sister an option?"

I sat and considered this, I knew what answer he wanted to hear but I wasn't sure if I could promise him. I also knew, perhaps because we had shared so much together or because he had seen me in such a vulnerable state, that I couldn't lie to him. "I dunno, Greg..."

He held up both hands and continued, "Honestly John,day or night, any time, you can call me. And I don't know for certain but I'm pretty sure Molly would make the same offer to you."

I looked down at my lap, feeling overwhelmed. I swallowed and tried to find the right words. Eventually I settled for "Thanks, I will."


	4. Chapter 4

Next chapter, titchy little chapter so my apologies! All the plot bunnies in my head are fighting and getting in each others' way... *sigh* I will get them in line eventually. But I did manage to squeeze a mini-chapter out here. The parts in italics in speech marks are lyrics from a song called 'I Need a Doctor' by Dr Dre, Skylar Grey and Eminem, and so I don't own the rights to those words either but they were my inspiring influence here, and if the artists have a problem with it they can come find me!

Please review if you have time, I feel I've lost my way with this fic a bit and any tips or suggestions would be massively appreciated. My thanks to all those who have previously reviewed.

As ever I don't own any rights to Sherlock or the original ideas of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

I sat in my chair in Baker street, trying to process the thoughts buzzing around my head, feeling I could understand why Sherlock would turn to Nicotine (and other stimulants) to try to catch up with his thoughts. Giving up when I started to get dizzy, I got up and turned on the radio, having another voice in the flat was remarkably soothing. As I stood the dizziness got worse and it occurred to me that I hadn't eaten in... well a while at least. I set about making myself some tea and toast, the simplest form of nutrition I could find. I smiled grimly to myself as I found that Mrs Hudson had provided me with fresh bread and milk. _So much for not being our... my housekeeper._ As I sat down with my cuppa, feeling the warmth spread through my cold hands, I started to catch the odd lyric from the radio.

"_...death is starting to creep in, every day just so grey and black. Hope, I just need a ray of that..."_

How strange that songs can capture how we feel even written by a stranger about a completely different situation. I suppose 'hope' is what I was offered when Sherlock came to me the other day, I would say he rescued me, but all he really did was pull me back from the edge, literally and mentally, and left me to fall a shorter distance.

"_...all I know is you came to me when I was at my lowest, you picked me up, breathed new life into me, I owe my life to you..."_

Maybe I shouldn't be so angry with him, meeting him saved me, brought me back to life after the war. His death only hit me so hard because of how much he means to me,

"_...I don't think you realise what you mean to me, not the slightest clue, cos me and you were like a crew I was like your sidekick..."_

I stand up and frown at the radio, wondering if my suspicions about the lyrics counts as paranoid thoughts just as the chorus repeats

"_I need a doctor, doctor to bring me back to life."_

As if the decision has been made for me, I turn off the radio and pull my mobile out of my pocket, Sherlock always preferred to text, but since I don't really know what I'm going to say, I call instead.

"Hello? Sarah... I know it's been a while since we spoke..." I have always struggled to ask for help even when I was a kid, fortunately she interrupts me!

"John? Oh it's so good to hear from you, I wanted to call of course I heard about what happened, but I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate. How are you coping?"

I sighed with relief for such an opening, "Truthfully, not too well... That's sort of why I was calling, I could use your help."

There was a few moments silence at the other end before I heard, "Of course John, anything I can do, but may I ask, do you need my help in a professional capacity, or as a friend?"

I hesitated before answering, as I hadn't expected such blunt honesty, but eventually I admitted, "A little of both, sorry to say."

"Then I tell you what, I finish my shift in an hour, come meet me at the surgery and we'll grab a coffee. How does that sound?"

"Like the best idea I've heard today. I'll see you in a bit."


End file.
